


Boys Don't Cry

by PhantomStutter



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomStutter/pseuds/PhantomStutter
Summary: Pa told ya that boy's don't cry.Gettin' harder to keep that true throughout the years.Maybe it wasn't s'pose to be true in the first place.Maybe his nephew needs a different truth.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Boys Don't Cry

Boys don't cry.

That's what his Pa always told him.

Emotions were weak. A shameful act that only shameful people take part in.

Because sadness was the emotion that crippled you.

Made you feel less than a man.

Angry emotions though? Envious and happy emotions? Well, you can control those. Use those to act on instead of react.

Say someone is bullying you on the playground every afternoon that made you feel those twisted, bad emotions. Well, you focus on the ones you can use and you learn how to fight and now you can hold your own. And for those you can't change, well, maybe they weren't meant to be changed. Just swallow those feelings forever because they would go away eventually, right? Because even though you can hold your own, the bullies won't stop. So just keep holding your own. Sooner or later, one of you will be gone and then you wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Any emotions from having to deal with the constant threat of a fight everyday? Nope. Doesn't exist. Because if they did then that meant the solution to your problem didn't work. That it did affect you emotionally the whole time.

But it doesn't

Because boys don't cry.

Only babies and girls cry.

That's what he told himself when the anger finally dissipated. Leaving him hollow. His hands shaking as he turned the ignition off and leaned back into the seat. Car parked in an empty parking lot far from town right in front of the beach. The waves crashing rhythmically on the empty shore while winds from the sea rustled the beach grass into a dance. Any other time this would be a comfort to Stanley Pines. Like an old blanket you've had since forever. But seeing that vast ocean had a rock fall through his gut. Making him feel...heavy.

But why should he be? His brother didn't want him around anymore, clearly. Already out grew his twin and wanted to be rid of him. They all did! Why did he have to feel anything but aversion and bitterness?

Those emotions he could use. Use to make them eat their words. Show who the real screw up is! How they, his brother and Pa, would rue the day they threw him out in the dead of night with nothing but a poorly put together duffle bag full of his crap! Could use those emotions to be richer than they ever thought possible and not give them a damn cent!

HE DIDN'T NEED THEM!

He didn't need anybody.

So there was no use in feeling...heavy.

Because you can't use those emotions. Can't make it fuel for anything that was important, right? Only there to remind you how shitty your life had become.

He looked out to the sea and thought of the dream he had that turned to dust in his hands. The one hope for escape of his miserable life. Wasn't like he had talents elsewhere. Not like his shining star of a twin that had casted his shadow over him since they were kids. He always hoped that the Stan O' War would show that he really was good for something. Not just a sack with arms that could punch stuff...but someone with merit!

Someone that people looked up to!

Like Sixer.

Stanford.

Fucking Stanford.

Man.

Ford was so pissed. At him of all people!

Those eyes he'd only want to see full of joy was so...spiteful...

It was an accident! It really was!

He hadn't meant to break the stupid thing.

Stan didn't think his brother could even get that pissed. Least of all at him. No matter what they did, they always forgave each other. Ma said the only people who would always have your back is your sibling. Even more so because they were twins. A special bond that not even normal siblings had. So they never fought for long because there was always a solution. Always a way to make things work but...not this time he guessed.

Going to some fancy-pantsy school was more important than him.

That heavy feeling was getting heavier now. Stronger. It was getting hard to focus on the sea any more. Had to clench his eyes shut tight or he might spill everything inside him. Things that were suppose to be trapped in the back in a locked cage in the back of his mind. He was a dam ready to burst and he was the only operator left able to keep everything how it was s'pose to be.

Him being strong.

Manly.

But nothing was as it was "s'pose to be".

He had no family. His Pa told him himself he wasn't welcome back. Might've said that he never loved him with all that he said as he dragged his sorry ass to the door. Then his Ma. Standing there without putting one word in to let him stay. And Stanford. That glare from the window as Stan stood helplessly in front of what was his home. His own twin turning his back on him. Basically telling him he wasn't part of his life any more.

No more Dynamic Duo.

No more family.

No more home to crawl back to.

No one...no one left to love him.

A soft sob choked in the back of his throat. He buried his head in his hands. Not wanting the world to see tears fall down his face. No one needed to know the hurt that built up in his chest because, in that exact moment, he realized how truly alone he was.

No one.

He was so alone and no one was there to love him.

His soft whimpers turned into full on cries of anguish. Loudly sobbing as tears fell through his fingertips and onto his jeans in big, hot globs. He was nearly screaming. Wanting to shout to the world that he was hurt. For someone either to comfort him or, at the bare fucking minimum, acknowledge that he was hurt. All the pain and fear in the last twenty-four hours manifesting into this one, single moment of lost control.

BOYS DO NOT CRY STANLEY!

Stanley's head shot up. A Deer-In-A-Headlight look across his face. Ready to deny anything anybody might've saw. Harsh and labored breaths panted from his mouth as he tried to recoup from the cry. Yet, despite the fear, no one was there.

No one to see the weakness finally take hold of him.

Sniffling, he pawed at his face to remove the excess tears and snot.

But his face felt too hot. Too swollen.

He was disgusted. How dare he cry. He...he should never cry. No. There was a better way. Always a better way.

Growling, he yanked the door open and practically threw himself out of the car. Stumbling out on the worn asphalt, Stan saw the water and nearly ran to it. Like he was man who went days without a drop of the stuff. He strode up to that god forsaken body of water with long, determined strides. The thought of that stupid boat hunting his thoughts and making this heaviness unbearable.

At the shores edge, he balled up his fists and bore his gaze into the pitch black waves. With his body trembling, needing an outlet. The need, so great, to release everything he didn't want to keep.

He screamed.

Screamed as loud as his voice would let him. Screamed in hopes that everyone that lived on this damn coastline would hear him. Hear his rage. His anguish. Hope that anybody who heard him would never get sleep. That his family heard. Hoping they know that this would be the last time any of them would hear from him.

His throat grew hoarse and raw and he stopped when he ended up in a coughing fit. Falling to his knees and digging his fingers in the salty waters below. The ocean lapping at him like a dog and the spray wetting his face.

It still hurt.

A rusted blade went through his heart and twisted it's self in there.

But it didn't have to.

Push it down now.

Push it down.

Deep, heavy breaths now.

In with the tide.

Out with the tide.

Don't.

Cry.  


\---

He drove.

Couldn't stop.

Too close.

Everything hurt. Felt like something was broken. A few things, actually. Never mind that nearly every part of his body pulsed in pain. Skin probably swelling in many, many places.

Didn't have money to fix anything though. Couldn't stop if he wanted to. At least, not until he knew he was safe.

Well, safe enough.

They were drunk as dogs when they closed the trunk on top of him. Whiskey heavy on their breaths as they pulled him up off the parking lot asphalt and into that damn trunk. It helped him get away. Them being plastered. He wondered if they would've notice him wiggle himself out of the hole he made if they weren't. Sure as hell would've been easier if they weren't swervin' the entire time.

But it would've killed him faster if they weren't distracted.

He stretched his jaw. The old, moldy carpet still left a bitter taste.

The Universe didn't want him dead.

Yet.

How long was he driving now? His heart still thudded against his ear drums. Couldn't hear the engine with 'em. All this adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him only the one goal. Which was go as far in the other direction as possible. Nothin' else mattered. Try to get the next town over. Hell, it was mornin' now. The sun coming up over the horizon.

As if on cue, he passed a sign.

Damn. Screw "the next two cities over". Try the next state.

From what he remembered, it was close enough from where he was caught. And with as much gas he had, it added up. But still...

That...that seemed far enough though.

He saw a barn coming up. Abandoned, hopefully. Didn't want to stay in it, obviously. A trash filled car was still better than sleeping on a rat and bug invested pile of hay. Made that mistake once. But farmers usually chase you off if they find you. Wouldn't be a long stay anyway. Just needed a place to lick his wounds, so to speak. To take a breath.

It didn't take long to see it was abandoned coming up the drive. Half the roof was caved it. Didn't look like fresh hay had touched this place in at least a decade. One of the doors were missing. A whole ass tractor sat rusting in a corner. Partially corroded away. Shrubs and bushes taken over every other place that wasn't part 'barn'. Even with a window cracked down, everything stank of rotting wood.

Yeah. It was abandoned. Or, at least, no one cared enough to come over here.

As quick as he could, he pulled around to the back. The ruined barn just intact enough to hide his car. Hoping the overgrown foliage was enough to compensate too. Turning the ignition off, he leaned back into his seat. Wincing at what was probably broken ribs. Or, at the very least, bruised ones. Rolling down the window a wave of the rotten barn came tumbling in. Even with the wood smell coming in, it was still a nice breath. Far from a major city to pollute this air.

His gaze bore into the ceiling. Rubbing his wrists absentmindedly. The sting from the rope burn bringing the memories up again.

He didn't see it coming.

Thought he was going to die.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. The absolute terror of not winning the fight. Not getting away. The fear of, after that trunk closed down on him, knowing exactly what they were going to do to him.

Off him.

Tie his legs to a cinder brick and throw him into a lake.

Take him to the middle of nowhere and blast his brains out.

Take him to a warehouse to beat him to a bloody pulp and dissolve his body in acid.

Stanley covered his mouth as he forced back a sob. He came so, so close to dying last night. The realization hit him much like those kicks to the ribs did. No where to run or hide. No one to help him take them on.

Sitting there, it made him realize something he'd been hiding.

He hated his life. Himself. Everyone.

He hated having to steal for food and gas. Hated that he the only thing he was good at was coning people. Tricking people into thinking he was smart or strong or fast. That the only real skill he had was knowing how to find a loophole in anything. He hated it. Hated his stupid father for kicking out. Hated his stupid family for leaving him high and dry to fend for himself.

Tears tried to fall down his cheeks but he rubbed them away aggressively.

No.

Men don't cry. No matter what. He hadn't cried since he was kicked out and he wasn't about to start to now.

He made it out alive. That was the important thing. Didn't need some useless emotion coming in and making him look weak. He won. Didn't need to cry over that. Didn't have to think about how he almost died, either. Or how he could still taste blood in his mouth. Or that everything fucking hurt.

He wanted his brother.

Stan was so pissed at Ford. For abandoning him. Out of everybody, he wasn't suppose to abandon him.

But he missed him. So god damn much.

Ford would've prevented him from being in the damn trunk in the first place. Out of that situation entirely...

As much as he told himself that Stanford could go fuck himself, to go fuck off at college and whatever. To go fuck off and live without a second thought of his twin...that he would show him. Show all of them...God. He was so...tired. And he missed his brother. His best fucking friend and he wanted nothing else than to call him right now and beg for his forgiveness.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't, because, what if he called and...and Stanford wouldn't...wouldn't forgive him? Stanford just telling Stanley to fuck off and never wanting to see him again? That, no matter what, he was always the screw up? The worse twin? He...

Stanley knew he wouldn't be able to... _be_ after that.

His whole life sucks anyway. What was there he had to live for besides spite? Spite for his father. His brother. Those assholes who nearly kill him on a weekly basis. If Stanford never, ever wanted to see him again and told him that to his face, what was there to live fore?

He was so tired.

Tears fell down his face.

Silently.

Softly.  


\---

He covered his eyes with his arm and sat there. Letting the tears drip down.

What had he done.

Stanley was sitting on his knees. A wrench and a screwdriver to his right. The...Journal on his left.

He fucked up.

Those tools were all he could find in his blind panic. The lever was the only thing there that he even had an inkling on how to fix. And the stupid journal hardly made a lick of sense just reading it once. The burn on his back wasn't helping things as it burned like literal hell.

This...this wasn't an easy fix.

He pushed his brother into this...portal thing and...

Oh god.

What if he was dead?!

Stan's chest felt tight. If he had anything in his stomach, he would've thrown up it's contents. His breathing felt quick and short and he covered his mouth to stop it.

No. He had to be alive. He...he had to be!

Because if he killed Stanford...Another pain in his stomach shot through him.

He couldn't be thinking like that right now. That wouldn't help bring his brother back. Stan had to fix yet another mess he created.

'He'd figure it out', he thought, as he picked up the Journal. Running a thumb over the six-fingered hand mark on top of it. It was funny to think that Ford would use his hands as his signature with how much those hands gave him trouble. But the humor to it didn't last long. He gave a shaky sigh as he looked up at the gaping hole that took his brother.

Maybe there would be more plans upstairs in his brother's house.

Book in hand, he rose to his feet. He yelled in pain as his shoulder flared up in agony. He held onto the shoulder, breathing heavily through his nose. Using all he had to not break down.

No.

Find. More. Plans.

There's no time for that right now.

Dragging his feet to the elevator and fiddling with the buttons until it went up, he took deep even breaths to steady his nerves. Shaking as one hand gripped his shoulder while the other gripped the book. Holding both like a vice. Eyes boring into the doors, not really seeing them. Trying to stay numb. To hold himself together. Yet he still felt himself slipping.

The doors opened to the corridor with the dim light that illuminated it. Damp yet well traversed.

That lead to his brother's house.

Right when he stepped into that room he realized immediately that he was way in over his head.

He hadn't had a good look the first time he came in. What with his brother nervously rambling about the portal and eyes and such. But now that he had a good look at it, he thought that this would harder than he thought.

There was scientific mumbo-jumbo in every nook and cranny. Things that blinked and zapped came in all different sizes and he didn't have a damn clue at what the hell they were. There was taxidermy of not only animals that probably lived in the forest but also things that didn't seem natural. All with snarling, murderous teeth flashing at every instant he looked at them. Accusing. Then there was the books and papers and whatever the hell else you would associate that with. Filling shelves to the point that they were stacked on the floor and tables and whatever else that had a surface. Piled nearly to the ceiling in most places.

Where was he suppose to look?

Was he suppose to look for the other journals?

Did he write extra information down in another book or learn how to build at least some of that monstrosity in another? Plans of any kind that wasn't encrypted in nonsensical bullshit?!

Stan felt his heart race and breath quicken. He placed a hand on his chest as panic was starting to flare.

He had to get out of this room.

Nearly sprinting, he ran through the house. As if, at any moment, one of those stuffed animals would jump out and attack him. Stan didn't remember which way he ran. Just running as fast as could until a door came into view. He yanked on the door knob and threw himself in. Slamming the door behind him. Clutching the book to his heaving chest with both hands.

He found himself something akin to what was out there but tamer. He could only make out a few details from the moonlight shining through the window, but it looked like a study. A desk and a chair and...a little couch like bench sitting underneath the said window. Books, again, were piled high on the desk and floor, from what he could see. He didn't even know there could be this many books.

His knees felt weak and vision fuzzy.

Stumbling, he managed to push himself off the door. Only to then start falling forward. Either out of blind luck or sheer will, he ended up falling onto the couch. It was hard despite the cushion. He landed on his burned shoulder and cried out in pain. Whimpering, he hugged the book as he crawled further onto the cushion. Back facing the room as he hugged the journal tight as tears leaked from his eyes.

Everything was so, so wrong.

He wanted to make up with his brother so, so bad. He even had a thought that he'd lower himself to beg for his forgiveness. Ever since his father kicked him out, he'd been dying to see his brother again. His twin. Even through all the hurt and anger, he wanted nothing more than to be in his good graces. He knew he fucked up. He just wanted Ford to give him a chance.

And he fucked up again. Worse than before.

Why couldn't he just take the stupid book?!

Why couldn't he do one good god damn thing in his life?!

Stanley curled tighter in on himself as he released a scream. Eyes squeezed shut as tears poured from his face. His heart hammered in his chest with every gasping breath as he openly sobbed in the empty house. Snot dribbled from his nose as he buried his face into the cushions. Holding onto the book for dear life. The closest to being an actual hug from his brother since high school.

Would probably be for a little while longer.

He knew crying wouldn't get anything done. But what else was he suppose to do?! It was late and he was sore and in pain and exhausted and overwhelmed and...

Turning onto his back, ignoring the sting from his wound he'd yet taken care of, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Feeling the remnants of water slowly slide down his cheeks along with the burning in his cheeks. Hiccuping as he played the scene over and over in his head. How he should've listened. How he should've just swallowed his damn pride.

What was he going to do now?  


\---

Why would this be any different?

Why did he even begin to think he wasn't a constant screw up?

The one thing he actually fixed in his life ended up backfiring in his face. Just like everything else in his stupid god damn existence.

His room never felt more like 'not his' than in that moment. Knowing he has to be out by the end of the summer. Hardly a single thing here was his. Sure he had posters and clothes and all the junk in the drawers and under the bed but...nothing else mattered to him in this old shack.

Shoulders sagging, he walked over to the bed and sunk into the old, worn mattress. Ironically enough, Stan knew he spent more sleepless nights here than anything else. All for that jerk-face. He blew air out of his nose.

Didn't even say thank you.

Did he think he deserve it?

Well...he did turn that portal back on. And if it was so dangerous then why did his knucklehead of a brother build it in the first place? Why did he even keep the plans? His blood was starting to boil all over again.

He learned so much about quantum physics and theoretical theories and fucking robotics, just in fucking case, to work that hell-pit downstairs. Understanding to the best to his ability to help him along with that stupid portal. Learned enough to fix other parts of the stupid thing without those stupid books. He worked harder than he ever had with anything else. Only opened that damn Shack to pay for the house on top of that monstrosity and run the lights to it. Took his name so no one would run him out.

It was all for him.

For Stanford.

Even if it was obvious that Ford didn't want him anymore or love him anymore...

Stan clutched at his chest as he felt emotions bubbling inside him.

He knew he didn't deserve happiness. The closest he ever had was either with Soos or the kids. Happiness wasn't for old, washed up con-men. He stole his brother's chance for happiness. Twice. And he had to pay his penitence twice over.

Out of this whole thing, after being rejected yet again from his twin, he felt...angry. Hurt. Everything he felt when his Pa kicked him out all those years ago. (And Ford had the gull to compare him to their father). And not even thanked for all the years he put into bringing him back. Thirty years was not ideal by any means, but he didn't give up. Pines men didn't give up.

He just wanted to know that he didn't completely waste his life. That he did one worthwhile thing. That, even though he was a high school drop out and old grifter, that he was capable of good things too.

He felt hot drips of water drip onto his hand. Stan reached up and wiped them away with a swipe of a thumb.

Putting his hand to his face, he saw the remnants of those tears on that thumb.

Did Ford even deserve these tears anymore?

In his gut, he knew 'yes' because you don't give up on family. But...did Ford even consider him family anymore?

Did he?

Sighing, Stan fell back onto the bed. Looking up at the dank ceiling. His adrenaline from today finally winding down so he could feel every sore muscle and scrape he gained today. The bruise on his chin from where he was punched, especially, started to throb.

His tears dried up just as fast as they came.

No. He decided.

His brother didn't deserve his tears anymore.  


\---

Being in The Mystery Shack again was bittersweet.

Bitter for the memories and sweet for...the memories also. After being forced out of his childhood home, this was the closest thing he had to a home for a long time.

But it was different this time.

Now he was with his brother and niblings, Dipper and Mabel. He didn't even have to work The Mystery Shack with Soos in charge. His brother and him were bunking with the other twins upstairs. Soos having made two sets of bunk beds in the attic just for their visit.

And it was going pretty damn well.

When the pair of twins stepped foot into Gravity Falls, they spent that whole day just in high energy. The two Stans, not having too much else to do besides spending time with their niblings, came along with the kids around town to greet all of their old friends. Well, the kid's old friends. And Wendy. Stan driving them around in the ol' Stanmobile. Mabel already announcing a party for their return later that week. Handing out flyers that she must've printed back at home. They stopped for lunch at the dinner in between to allow more stories about him and Ford's adventure.

At the end of it, they sat with Soos and his Abuelita and his girlfriend for dinner. Talking about the changes, or lack-thereof, to The Mystery Shack.

Finally, they winded down with some good, ol' fashioned Ducktectives.

Ford didn't hesitate, ten minutes into the show, to go to the basement. Saying there was something he wanted to look into for a few months now. Stan knew his brother was itching to do it all day but stayed for his family. The knucklehead was finally learning.

The kids sat on either side of him in the recliner. Even though they were watching reruns, it still made the three of them laugh.

After the sixth episode, Stan looked down to see that both of the mystery twins were snoring softly on his stomach. Drool started to drip from the corner of Mabel's mouth. He chortled. Wasn't too surprised. They had a big day and hardly had time to rest.

With a soft, warm smile on his face, he stood to his feet with the kids still in arms. Easily enough now since being on that boat with Ford for the last year. The accumulated muscle coming very much in handy. Not like these little guys weighed anything. It now made him wonder when their growth spurts would come in. Although, if Stan was honest, him and Ford didn't get their spurts until they were at least fifteen. Might be a family thing.

Maneuvering easily through the house, he ascended upstairs. To the attic.

There was a dim light on in the room already. Mable had brought some sparkly string lights that, with him and Ford's help, was strung all along the ceiling. Giving their living space a nice, muted glow.

They had agreed, much to Dipper's dismay, that Stan and Dipper would share one bunk while Ford and Mabel shared the other. Mabel saying something about bonding or something. But neither Grunkle was about to fight with their niece on this so it was just decided so. So Mabel was put on the bottom bunk of her's and then Dipper was hauled to the top bunk of his.

Rolling his shoulder, Stan looked at the clock to see it was already 11:00. Yet he wasn't even tired. Back on the Stan O' War, sleep schedules varied wildly. Sometimes they'd need to wake up early to catch some fairy thing yet then the next night they'd stay up all night because they saw a ghost ship. For the last few weeks up to this visit, it was the later. Staying up until three of the morning sometimes. Sometimes just to look at the stars since it'd be a few months until they saw 'em again. Stars on land never seemed to be as bright.

Suppose he could try watching more TV to fall asleep to.

With that he went downstairs to do just that. Hadn't seen a single hair of his brother since he went downstairs. No doubt he'd have to be dragged out of that basement to sleep in an actual bed.

He'd save that though for when he was actually tired.

Stan didn't even know what he threw up onto the TV. It was an old classical movie but it wasn't one he was familiar with. Said it was a local one so that would probably be the reason why. Everything here had to be weird.

Guess it wouldn't be Gravity Falls without it.

It was edging closer to midnight when Stan heard a creek from the hallway. It was sort of hard to see in the dim light, but it looked like it was Dipper trying to sneak his way into the kitchen.

"Dipper?"

The figure stopped. Shoulder's hunched over. He didn't turn around though. What was that little sneak hiding this time?

"What're you doin' up so late?"

Dipper didn't move. Only rubbing his arm as the kid shifted in place.

This low light was starting to annoying him, so Stan groaned as he got up to flip on the lights. Dipper stood in front of him now, faced away from him while clutching at his arm. He still wore what he did yesterday but crumpled now.

"C'mon kid. What'cha doin' up?" Stan's tone was firm. Had to be with these rascals.

"Getting...milk." He whimpered.

That didn't sound like his nephew.

Kneeling on his knee, he reached out and touched the kid's shoulder. His tone a little softer now, "C'mon. What's really goin' on? I'm not mad your up."

Stan felt the kid take a big, deep sigh. Slowly, Dipper turned around. Head bowed to let his hair cover his eyes.

Frowning, Stan reached a hand out to tip Dipper's head up. Now it made sense why Dipper's voice sounded more hoarse and whiny than usual. Old tear tracks stained the boy's flushed cheeks. His eyes, although not looking at his Grunkle, were red and watery. A bit puffy too. And a little bit of snot was still clinging to his nostrils.

It was in that moment that Stan realized he'd never seen Dipper cry.

And his guess was that his nephew liked it that way. He was getting to that age where that sort of thing was...frowned upon for a 'teenage' boy.

Stan frowned for a moment before shaking it off. "Let's get ya that milk." The kid was probably dehydrated anyway.

Dipper looked up at him in surprise as Stan lifted himself to his feet. He pressed a hand to Dipper's back to lead him into the kitchen. Turning on the light, Stan waved him to go sit at a chair. Tentatively, Dipper complied and sat at the edge of the chair. Stan's back faced Dipper the whole time. He knew it would help the kid try and calm himself down with no one watching him.

After a sort of a long time, Stan had two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands instead of milk. Whip-cream on top, obviously.

His nephew's eyes lit up and that brought a warm smile to Stan's face.

Yeah, he knew he could get that kid's spirits up again.

He placed the other mug in font of Dipper while he sat down across from him. Holding his own in both of his hands to feel the warmth radiate back into his old skin. Nothin' like hot chocolate to lift someone's spirit's up.

The two sat in silence while they sipped at their mugs. Well, Dipper did. Cautiously taking small sips. Rightfully careful with how much steam the mug was giving off. Stan, on the other hand, took two large gulps to finish off the mug. Giving his nephew a big, frothy covered smile. Hot chocolate slowly dripping off his chin.

That got another smile out of the kid but Stan could tell he wasn't really feeling it. Wasn't reaching his eyes.

Stan sighed as he wiped the excess drink off his face with the back of arm. He leaned back in his chair and honestly looked at Dipper, "Alright. Are ya gonna tell me what's wrong? I know you've been cryin'."

Dipper flinched at that last word. Turning his head away in shame.

Right. As if it was going to be that easy. Before, he probably would've run away and let the kid deal with it on his own. But almost losing his memories of his family, and then the best time of his life he'd spent with his brother on the boat, it made him...think. Think about all those lonely years without someone there for him.

He was given a second chance with his family. A chance he never thought he'd get. Might as well make the most of it.

Getting up, Stan bent down to Dipper's level. Resting a hand on the kid's shoulder. That gained Dipper's attention to actually look Stan in the eye.

"Listen kid..." Stan mulled around at what he was going to say. He wasn't good with this sort of crap, "I'm probably the least helpful person to talk about emotions with. We both know I avoid talk'n about it and don't wanna talk about it. I've been a lonely old man for so long that I don't know how to act any different. I know that I'm pretty manly and strong and cool and..."

Dipper scrunched his face up as he gave his Grunkle an incredulous look, "Is this you trying to help?"

Stan glared at him for a moment, "Shut it." Shaking his head, he put back on a sympathetic face, "What was I...oh right. Listen. What I'm trying say is, or what I want to say I guess, is that even though you want to be manly and strong and tough, it's okay to show weakness. The whole thing that people say that boys can't is bull. You can't be strong twenty-four seven. It wears you down to the point you feel numb. And unlike what I had growin' up, you have people to talk to. You got yer sister and your parents and Shermie, he was always good with that sort of thing. You've got me n' Ford too. Believe it or not."

He then put both hands on his nephew's arms. Holding the boy tight as he looked the kid in the eye, "It's okay to cry."

The kid's eyes started to well up. He swallowed a lump in his throat, "B-But...b-boy's...men, sh-shouldn't cry. I d-don't see you or F-Ford cry."

Stan gave him a sad smile, "There's a reason for that, but we do. I...have."

"You have?" He sniffed.

As if he would lie about this sort of thing. Well...he would've.

Slowly, Stan nodded, "I have." How much did he want to be this open with his nephew? He did want to be as close as he could get with his family. Wanted to feel like the hero he was suppose to be. Actually use his second chance right this time. He wasn't given a lot of those and he usually fucked up when he did. If he was going to help Dipper with whatever kept this kid up at night, then he would have to...open up.

"I...I cried when my Pa kicked me out of the house." Dipper's eyes were wide as he listened on, "I cried on the side of the rode, missin' of home. Missin' my twin. Cried when I almost died one time...I'm not tellin' ya that story so don't ask. I...I cried after I pushed Ford in the portal..." Did he go in further? Go into things that were recent? Stan didn't know if he could.

Taking in a deep breath, Stan said, "I understand. Okay? Your gonna cry and it's okay. Made me focus a little more, maybe, after all that emotional junk was out of the way. That pain in your chest is a little lighter. But even then, it's even better to cry with someone. All those times I was alone and desperate and thought I could take on the world alone, I had no one. Bein' with someone, though, makes all those scary feelings feel less...scary. I dunno. I think I'm rambling but... now..."

"Now... you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Dipper tugged at the edge of his shirt. Biting his lip as he mulled over his thoughts. Taking a deep, shaking breath, Dipper said, "I had a dream...a nightmare, I guess."

Stan frowned. He was acquainted with those too.

"It was...it was of last year." The more Dipper spoke the higher his voice got. The more frantic the boy got, "And...and everything was bad again but...but...I couldn't find anybody. He took everyone. I...I...I was too late!" He started hyperventilating. Sweating heavily as tears streamed down his face now.

"Hey! Now!" Stan rubbed his arms, "Deep breaths, okay? You're safe here. We're safe."

Dipper ran into Stan and buried his face into his chest. Clutching onto Stan's shirt as the boy sobbed into him.

Stan blinked in surprise.

This is far more than Stan had wanted to do tonight. Didn't really think this talk would go so wrong. Or was it right? Was it what he wanted Dipper to do all along? He did want the kid to talk so...he did. It also wasn't like Ford and him didn't have the same dreams about that fucking apocalypse too. He swore he'd punch that stupid triangle in the face a thousand times over if he could for messing with his family like this.

Inhaling deeply, Stan wrapped his arms around the boy. Holding tight onto his nephew. Knowing he was nearly crushing the teen but Dipper didn't pull away. Only digging his nails into the his old shirt.

His kneeling position on the floor, though, was starting to get to his back. He may have been stronger 'cause of the boat, but that didn't mean old pains didn't get to him. Grunting, he stood with Dipper still in his arms. The boy sobbing into his shoulder even harder. Stan then went to move into the living room. Thinking that would be more comfortable than the hard kitchen floor.

He sat in the old recliner and kicked back the chair. Leaning back, he just patted Dipper's back. The boy trembling and coughing between sobs.

Poor kid.

Eventually, Dipper's cries petered off and his stranglehold on him was loosening. He didn't let go, though. Looking over at the TV in his spot on Stan. Stan forgot he never turned it off. They watched that together further into the night and into morning. Somewhere in the mix Stan ended up falling asleep to a rare dreamless one.

Didn't know what time it was when he woke up, but he found that Dipper had slept in the chair with him the whole night. A blanket draped over the both of them. Morning was peaking through a window somewhere and he could hear someone in the kitchen doing, well, something.

Stan's neck, though, was starting to feel a little stiff. Maybe that chair wasn't as comfortable to sleep in as he remembered. Carefully and slowly, he stood up while trying not to wake his nephew. He usually slept like the dead but nightmares tended to change that. Soon he put Dipper where he was sitting. Curled up in a ball with him cocooned in the blanket that was draped over them. Like a cat.

Sure that Dipper wasn't going to wake up, Stan brushed the kid's hair back one more time before heading to the kitchen. Already smelling a well needed cup of coffee.

There, of course, he saw his brother. Leaning on the counter, arms crossed, while he waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing. Two mugs sitting in front it. He looked up when Stan walked in.

"Rough night?" He asked with a tired smile on his face. Knew if Stan wasn't the one to get Ford to bed he never would sleep.

Stan rubbed at his face, "Somethan' like that." He eyed his brother a little harder and saw him restraining a grin. Stan then accused, "You were eavesdroppin' last light, weren't you?"

Ford shrugged but he couldn't hide his mischievous grin widening, "Perhaps."

"GRUNKLE FORD!" Yelled Mable from upstairs, "I'VE GOT THE PREORDER PICTURES OF GRUNKLE STAN AND DIPPER READY!"

Stan's eye twitched as he glared at his twin.

Ford gave a nervous chuckle as he tried to sneak around Stan with a mug of coffee in hand, "Maybe we took a few hundred photos..."

"I'm gonna kill you."

Ford snorted, "You love me." But he did stop in front of his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I...I'm glad ya talked to him about...that. I think I would've screwed that up. Your better with the emotional side of these things."

Stan's face sobered. Nodding, "Eh, we're both terrible at this. But I hope somethin' stuck with the kid." He then looked at the remaining coffee mug on the counter and walked towards it, "Now, I'm gonna finish this coffee and then I'm gonna kick your..."

Just like that, he was gone. Running up stairs to probably hide the evidence.

He hopped Stan had done this right. But the fact that Dipper hadn't left after his breakdown, Stan guessed he'd done something at least a little right.


End file.
